


Algy And The Mistletoe

by Spirit_Of_The_Air



Category: Biggles Series - W. E. Johns
Genre: Christmas, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 15:10:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2777711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spirit_Of_The_Air/pseuds/Spirit_Of_The_Air
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Algy goes searching for mistletoe for 266 Squadron's Christmas party, and makes a new friend</p>
            </blockquote>





	Algy And The Mistletoe

**ALGY AND THE MISTLETOE**

 

The Honourable Algernon Montgomery Lacey, known to his friends as Algy, strolled towards the officers' mess of 266 Squadron, his flying helmet and goggles swinging from his hand. It was Christmas Eve, the weather was cold but clear and sunny, and he had just returned from an uneventful reconnaissance over the lines. He entered the mess and stopped short, the carol that he had been quietly whistling dying on his lips as he took in the bustle of activity.

"Hello, what's all this?" he cried, gazing at the rainbow-hued paper streamers festooned across the ceiling, and at the other squadron members, who were boisterously rearranging the tables and chairs against the walls to form an impromptu dance floor in the middle of the room. At the far end of the room, boughs of prickly holly, the glossy, dark-green leaves studded with brilliant scarlet berries, crowned the old stone mantel above the fireplace, in which a log fire was merrily crackling. At the other end of the room swags of variegated ivy adorned the polished oak bar, trailing and entwining around the sturdy supporting posts, and across a shelf of gleaming glass tankards. In one corner a magnificent spruce tree stood in a bucket of earth, its branches swathed in garlands of scarlet ribbon, the sharp, aromatic scent of pine over-riding the habitual mess-room taint of cigarette smoke and stale beer.

Biggles, who was standing by a small table bearing the squadron gramophone, glanced up from the pile of records that he was sorting through. "Algy, old man, come and lend a hand," he requested.

Algy joined him in time to catch a collapsing stack of the black shellac discs as they cascaded out of their protective paper covers. "Why all the frenzied preparations?" he asked, replacing the records on the table, and dropping his helmet and goggles onto a neighbouring chair.

"The C.O. has agreed to let us have a Christmas party tonight," Biggles explained, as the two of them began to replace the records into the empty sleeves. "He's even given permission for us to invite some girls from Clarmes. Mahoney has gone into town now to round some up."

Algy glanced around him at the coloured streamers, the holly and the ivy, and the beribboned tree. "If there's going to be ladies present, then we're missing one vital piece of kit," he observed seriously.

Biggles frowned. "What's that?"

"Mistletoe!" Algy announced dramatically. "We need a nice big bunch of it hanging right above the middle of the dance floor."

"Mistletoe?" ejaculated Biggles in surprise. "Listen, laddie, there's no mistletoe around here."

"I'm going to look for some," Algy decided, thrusting the record he was holding into Biggles' hands.

"I'll bet my entire night's mess bill that you won't find any," sneered Biggles.

"You're on!" cried Algy, snatching up his helmet and goggles from the chair as he dashed towards the door.

MacClaren, the B-flight commander, looked round in surprise at Algy's hasty exit. "Hey, Biggles, where's young Algy off to in such a hurry?" he called.

"He's gone in search of some mistletoe," explained Biggles. "Mistletoe, I ask you! Pah! Anybody would think the stuff grew on trees!"

*

From a dangerously low height, Algy looked down over the side of the cockpit of his Sopwith Camel, his eyes scanning the ground for any likely looking trees that might support the parasitic plant that he sought. He had been "hedge-hopping" around in this way on his own side of the lines for some time, and knew that he had reached the point where he should head back to the aerodrome while he still had sufficient fuel left to reach it. Several fields distant, a huge, venerable old oak tree caught his eye, and with a touch of his rudder pedals he swung the Camel around towards it, flying as low and as close as he dared while he scrutinised the branches hopefully. The bare boughs yielded nothing, and with a defeated sigh, he climbed to a safe height before turning the nose of his Camel towards home, resolving to refuel and make another sortie before darkness fell.

He was still a few miles from Maranique when the Bentley Rotary engine coughed ominously before picking up again. Algy bit his lip anxiously, aware that he had been reckless in extending his flight for even a few minutes beyond his fuel capacity. He knew he was closer to 287 Squadron than he was to his home airfield, and as the engine spluttered again, he changed course, deciding to land at the S.E.5 aerodrome to refuel rather than risk trying to reach his own squadron.

He landed without mishap, and managed to taxi the Camel to the tarmac before the engine cut out completely. Pushing up his goggles, he smiled a greeting to the small crowd of pilots and mechanics who had gathered to meet him.

"Got a spot of engine trouble, Algy?" shouted Wilkinson, the S.E.5 flight-commander. "Or are you just delivering Christmas cards?"

"I'm out of fuel," Algy explained, as he climbed out of the cockpit. "I'm afraid I pushed my luck and stayed out a bit too long. I was hoping you could spare me a drop."

"I'm sure that can be arranged," grinned Wilkinson. "Come and have a drop of Christmas spirit while you're waiting."

He led Algy into the mess, which was decorated in a similar manner to that of 266 Squadron, except that suspended from the ceiling just inside the door was a large bunch of mistletoe, complete with milky-white berries.

"Great Scott!" gasped Algy, as soon as he set eyes on it. "Where the deuce did you find that, Wilks?"

"Ah, that's our little Christmas present from Hun land," Wilks explained, smiling. "A few days ago some of our lads had a scrap with a couple of Albatrosses on the other side of the lines, and one of them, Pearson, was shot down. Luckily, he was unhurt, although his machine was a write-off. He crashed in a field next to an old abandoned apple orchard, and that stuff was growing all over the trees. The Albatrosses, being outnumbered, soon turned tail for home, and another of our lads, Frazer, landed to pick up Pearson. Knowing that we were decorating the mess that evening, they stopped long enough to gather a nice big bunch of it for us before they took off again. Frazer flew home with the mistletoe on his lap in the cockpit, and with Pearson lying flat on the wing."

Algy eyed the coveted mistletoe enviously. "I don't suppose you can spare me any of it, can you?" he asked hopefully. "I've been hedge-hopping up and down fields all afternoon looking for some."

"No way!" refused Wilks vehemently. "That's our mistletoe. You can jolly well go and get some for yourself if you want it!"

"I will!" declared Algy. "Where exactly is this orchard?"

"About five miles behind the lines, just east of a small oval-shaped wood," Wilks informed him.

Algy turned and ran back to his Camel, shouting to the mechanics to quickly finish the refuelling. Wilks followed more slowly, shaking his head in disbelief, to find Algy already in the cockpit, with the engine already running.

"Algy, don't be an ass!" he shouted. "This is no time to go messing about over the lines. It'll be dark in an hour, and the weather's closing in!"

Algy merely acknowledged the warning with a wave of his hand, before taxiing away from the tarmac. Opening the throttle, he took off, and still climbing, headed for the German lines.

*

Algy approached the lines at five thousand feet, noticing the white faces of soldiers staring up at him from the dark mire of the trenches. "I'm glad I'm not spending Christmas down there," he muttered to himself, eyeing the turmoil of mud, water and barbed wire in disgust. He thought back to an earlier Christmas, when the two warring sides had called an unofficial truce on Christmas Day, to exchange food and drink, and to play football on the muddy expanse of no-mans-land, and wondered idly if the soldiers below had any plans to repeat the experience the next day.

His reverie was abruptly interrupted by a burst of black smoke which mushroomed out in front of him, closely followed by several more as the German anti-aircraft batteries brought their sights to bear on the lone Camel. Algy kicked the rudder bar hard, first with his left foot, then with his right, twisting and turning like a startled snipe in order to spoil the aim of the gunners on the ground, as he raced across the German lines. Eventually the onslaught died away behind him, and he heaved a sigh of relief, looking around him to get his bearings.

Ahead and to the right he spotted the oval shaped wood that Wilks had described to him, and changed course towards it. Beyond it, separated from the wood by several meadows, he spotted the abandoned apple orchard, on the far side of which stood a derelict, burnt out farmhouse and a potholed road. He circled the orchard cautiously, looking for any signs of life, and then confident that the place was deserted, he sideslipped steeply to lose height, and brought the Camel in to a bumpy landing on the nearest tussock-strewn field.

As the machine ran to a stop, Algy "blipped" the engine briefly whilst he turned it around, ready for a fast take-off. He did not want to spend any longer on the ground than was necessary, aware that he was a sitting target for any passing enemy aircraft. Leaving the engine ticking over, he jumped down from the cockpit, and pushing up his goggles, looked around him.

"Wilks was right about the weather," he thought to himself, studying the sky anxiously. The short winter's day was already drawing to a close, the light fading rapidly as the fiery sunset was engulfed by a bank of heavy, grey cloud racing in from the west. "I don't like the look of that cloud one bit. There's snow to come shortly, if I'm not mistaken."

Gripped by a sense of urgency, he sprinted across the field to the orchard, pulling out his pocketknife as he ran. To his delight, there was no shortage of mistletoe available, for most of the gnarled old trunks of the apple trees were wreathed with the creeping parasite, large ivory berries with the lustre of pearls nestling amongst the deep green leaves. Hurriedly he began to hack at the twining stems on the nearest tree, until a large bunch had accumulated at his feet.

So engrossed was he with his task, that he did not hear the slight hum of air over the wings of a gliding aircraft, nor the low rumble of wheels on the uneven grass. He first became aware that he was no longer alone when he scooped up his bundle of mistletoe, and turning back towards his Camel, came face to face with a German pilot standing at the edge of the field and watching him with a stony expression, a Mauser pistol pointed unwaveringly at his chest. Beyond him, Algy could see an Albatross scout standing on the grass close to his Camel.

Algy dropped his mistletoe in shock, and stood staring at the German, speechless with horror. How the enemy pilot had managed to land beside the Camel without being heard he had not the faintest idea. The man continued to regard him dispassionately in silence, waiting to see what his next move would be. Algy met the steely blue gaze unflinchingly, his brain still in a whirl.

It only took Algy a few seconds to gather his wits and assess the situation. To reach for his own pistol in his jacket pocket would mean instant death from the muzzle of the menacing Mauser. To attempt to run, either for the cover of the orchard trees, or to the Camel would also probably result in the enemy shooting him without prevarication.

It suddenly occurred to Algy that the German's reason for landing here was perhaps the same as his own, to gather mistletoe for Christmas decorations. Again he remembered the Christmas football match played on no-mans-land a few years previously, and wondered if the spirit of Christmas would work its magic one more time. As far as he could see, it was his only hope.

Very slowly, keeping his hands in full view of the enemy, Algy bent down and divided his large bundle of mistletoe in half. Then he lifted one half, and slowly straightened up. Wearing his broadest smile, he held it out to the German.

"For you," he offered, speaking slowly and clearly.

For a moment the pilot did not move, and then he gestured Algy to lay the mistletoe to one side. Algy complied, his heart hammering against his ribs, wondering with each move he made if it would be his last. When he straightened up once more, the German seemed to reach a decision, and pointed at his own chest.

 "Klaus Hohl," he announced in a clipped voice.

Algy blinked, surprised, and then reciprocated the courtesy, pointing at his own chest. "Algy Lacey," he introduced himself. Cautiously, he extended his hand.

After a brief hesitation, the other also reached out, and their hands met in a firm grasp. The two men smiled at each other.

The German was the first to break the grip, and stepped back to create a distance between them. "Next time, in the air, we fight, Herr Lacey," he declared, in heavily accented English.

Algy nodded seriously. "Yes, next time, Herr Hohl," he agreed softly.

The German pointed down at the remaining bunch of mistletoe, and then at the stationary Camel. "Now, go!" he ordered.

Algy scooped up his precious bundle and began to walk towards the Camel, resisting the urge to run. He did not like turning his back on the German, but knew he had to hold his nerve. Although he was sure from their encounter that the other pilot was an honourable man, the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up, wondering if at any moment he would hear a shot and feel a bullet thudding into his back. A thought struck him, and he stopped and looked back, to find Hohl watching him closely.

"Merry Christmas!" he called jovially.

The German inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Frohliche Weihnachten!" he responded gravely.

Algy smiled as he turned away once more and made his way over to his Camel. He swung himself up into the cockpit, fastened his seat belt, and settled the bunch of mistletoe safely on his lap. Opening the throttle wide, he raced the Camel across the uneven ground, dragging it into the air at the earliest opportunity. Glancing down over the side of the cockpit, he saw that Hohl had moved to the side of his Albatross, carrying the bunch of mistletoe that Algy had given him. Algy waved a last good-bye, and saw the German also raise his hand in a final farewell.

Still climbing, Algy turned the Camel towards the lines, only now noticing how dark it had become, the winter twilight deepened by the low, heavy, grey cloud that now covered the sky. Algy eyed it with misgiving, knowing that it was too thick to climb above, but that to stay below it would make him easy prey for the anti-aircraft batteries guarding the lines. Even as he studied the leaden mass, a single white snowflake landed soft and wet on his face.

He was now fast approaching the lines, and Algy decided to take advantage of the cloud cover until he had crossed, knowing that the chances of another aircraft being in the air at this time and in this weather were extremely slim. It was far more likely that he would be hit by archie if he flew below the cloud than that he would collide with another machine in the murk.

Pulling the stick back towards him to gain some more height, he dodged into the dense cloud. Instantly he found himself flying blind in a whirling blizzard, the slipstream from his propeller whipping the snowflakes into a stream of stinging little needles that, despite his protective windscreen, lashed his face with a force that snatched his breath away. Algy hunched lower into his cockpit in an attempt to escape the icy blast. All around the Camel, a myriad of snowflakes swirled and spun in a disorientating, dizzy dance that obliterated all sense of direction, and Algy could only hope that he was succeeding in holding the Camel on a straight and even course.

After a few minutes, he decided that he could endure no more of the snowstorm. He judged that he should be clear of the lines by now, and so he pushed the stick forward and, keeping a close eye on his altimeter, descended through the cloud, hoping that it did not by this time extend to ground level.

At five hundred feet he emerged with startling suddenness into the comparative calm of clear sky. Here the snow was only falling in flurries, settling in an icing sugar dusting on the frost-hard ground below, but visibility was still reasonably clear. With a gasp of relief, Algy gazed around him, desperately trying to find his bearings. Behind him were the lines, and he soon picked out several familiar landmarks that allowed him to pinpoint the position of the aerodrome. With the snow already increasing in intensity, Algy pushed the nose of the Camel down for speed, and raced for home.

By the time he reached the aerodrome it was dark, although the thickening white mantle of snow covering the ground threw up an eerie, glistening reflection that allowed him to see where to land. The wheels of his Camel skimmed the soft surface gently, before settling down into it, carving two dark trails through the pristine whiteness. The drag of the snow slowed the machine quickly to a stop, and confident that no other aircraft would be landing on the airfield that night, Algy abandoned it where it halted. He climbed stiffly out of the cockpit, only then realising how cold and tired he felt. Retrieving his precious mistletoe, he stood for a moment gazing around at the silent, snow-clad aerodrome. It was now snowing steadily, and pulling off his helmet and goggles, Algy lifted his face to the dark sky, allowing a few flakes to flutter gently onto his face.

"A white Christmas!" he murmured to himself. "Lovely! And if this keeps up, there'll be no flying or fighting tomorrow, either." His thoughts turned to Klaus Hohl, and he hoped that the German pilot had also found his way safely home.

Hugging his mistletoe to him, he set off for the officers' mess, hearing the muffled sounds of music and laughter as he approached. Pushing open the door, he was assailed by a sudden blast of warmth, light and friendly noise. All voices and laughter ceased abruptly at his unexpected entrance, and then broke out again in a barrage of welcome as he was recognised. Biggles pushed his way to the front of the crowd that surged to meet him.

"Algy, old man! Thank God you're back safely!" he exclaimed. "Wilks rang to tell us that you had set off over the lines with barely an hour of daylight left, and when the weather closed in and you didn't come back, we thought you must be down on the wrong side. What happened?"

Algy thrust the bunch of mistletoe into Biggles' arms. "There's your mistletoe!" he grinned, feeling new vigour surge through him as the warmth seeped into his chilled body. "Let me get a drink, and then I'll tell you all about it, and about the new friend I made today."

He made his way to the bar and ordered a large whisky from the smiling steward on duty. "Charge it to Biggles," he instructed gleefully. "He's paying my mess bill tonight." He turned around with the glass in his hand to face his friends gathered before him, and raised the drink high in a toast.

"Merry Christmas, everybody!"

***

　

　

 


End file.
